Posts: 7

1. 

   it makes me happy to see you cry by alidamnit

   27.Mar.08, 14:13 EDT
   
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   it makes me happy to see you cry.
   
   acid tears melt the
   stone around my heart
   built up from years
   of self abuse
   ........neglect
   built up to protect
   the scared little boy
   too scared to make a phone call
   too scared to exist outside the odd text
   a few postings on the internet
   shrouded in the mask of the sexual predator
   shrouded in the mask of the drunk
   shrouded in the mask of the extrovert
   but behind the mask
   is the little boy that still cries himself to sleep
   mourns the days of youth
   running in the fields
   16 years old
   by the river strumming chords
   and drinking beer
   under the striking summer heat
   i'm 28 and feel old
   feel set in my ways
   in a rut
   looking for an escape
   but always choosing the safe path
   adhearing to the skull and crossbones death mark
   that marks the path to freedom
   true happiness
   avoid it at all costs
   because it's too difficult to bother
   but for now
   i'll just find happiness
   in the tears i make you cry.
   
   copyright Alan Goodenough 2008
   
   by alidamnit
   
   

2. 

   Landlord by Tim Reis

   21.Mar.08, 16:20 EDT
   
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   My name is Tim Reis and I'm a writer. (insert: Hi Tim). I have been a writer all my life, and it leaks into everything I do and everything I am. I interact with people as a writer, and search my own self as one. I do not have anywhere to stay this summer while I am on my summer vacation. My family leaves in a singlewide trailer, and I'm not going back there with four other people. I need somewhere to stay. To make this harder, I do not have a car either. Having to pay for an apartment, a car, insurance, and other random expenditures will be no easy task for me to accomplish alone. Add in the hundred dollars a month I pay so not only I, but my mother, can continue to have a cell phone, and it's become overwhelming. Having even one of these things guaranteed to be taken care of would be a major help!
   
   Choosen one entry is a difficult task for me. It's hard for me to decide one poem to represent my body of work (which, shameless plug, can be found almost in entirety on lovingangstaboy.deviantart.com). I chose the following poem because, in addition to it being one of my favorite poems of my own, it plays off the idea of what can be rented by exploring an unfortunate situation I helped someone close to me out of. It is titled "Landlord"
   
   Landlord
   
   Her eyes
   Bleed
   Rented tears.
   She needn't
   Wipe them away,
   They aren't hers
   To dry.
   They fall
   Unhindered
   Until
   She returns them
   To the man
   Who owns them.
   
   They again
   Come to her
   Once he collects,
   Makes her pay
   For her rented tears;
   Her payment up front
   For the sake
   Of his
   Rented fears.
   
   
   by Tim Reis
   
   

3. 

   Book 10 Chasing Shadows by ShizWizard

   11.Mar.08, 21:37 EDT
   
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   Here is my entry; It is from Volume III of my Fellowship of the Unicorn Saga
   
   Book 10 Chasing Shadows
   
   Or click here: http://members.aol.com/xvxlegendsxvx/Books/ChasingShadows.html
   
   Greetings everyone, I am JD.
   It takes money to make money, which I am confident is the sole reason I remain an enigma as an author. As a result of being poor my partner and I have to do everything in small steps as we raise enough money for each stage of our online store. We often have to chose between buying groceries and paying the bills and rent! I am sure many of you understand that struggle. At times we live on Ramen Noodles!
   
   As an artist I am mediocre, but as a writer I believe I have great potential. My only partner, Sparky and I have just created a domain where I shall be selling my novels, novelettes, short stories, and children books as book-style and web-style E-Books in DNL, EXE and PDF formats. We are hoping to raise enough money there to publish my books as paper backs and also publish our table top games. In time I hope to publish hard cover books! My partner does most of the computer graphics for the adventure games and novels, although I do some of the art work for the bestiary and all of the art for the children's books and family table top games. I have to date authored seventeen books, some of the rough drafts I am still in the process of editing. I also write poetry and song lyrics just for kicks. We have just gotten our domain up and we do not even have links on our site page yet, but look for us and our products in the future at PhilosophersEgg.com. My partner will be selling poser items, graphic art, and be doing custom graphics on request. We also have plans to sell other game, book, and graphics related items. All computer graphics, paintings, poetry, and book exerpts posted on my profile are my own work. Best of luck in the contest everyone, or for those who follow thespian traditions out there, break a leg!
   
   by ShizWizard
   
   

4. 

   "The Soul Saver" by Paul Warzin

   07.Mar.08, 19:22 EST
   
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   "The Soul Saver"
   by Paul Warzin
   The skies were purplish black in color,lightening shattered the sky from time to time and the moon appeared where it could among the racing clouds in their openings,though its light shone bright when it did fall and it just revealed the shoreline and the ground of red rock.This was the place of so many things;here was the beginning of all life in the universe,in all dimensions and in all ways,shapes and forms.Here mortals and immortals and those spiritual and fleshy all existed together,it is the place where all creation started from and would end and again to be reborn.
   
   the water that surrounded the land took the color of the sky and was filled with ships off in the distance that seemed to move when you looked at them,full masts and moving still quite slowly but never leaving the sight of land.The coastline was filled with bones and skulls of those fallen and never to be reborn,their clothes lay scattered on the waters edge as though spat from the water itself.
   
   Every now and again the sky would open and another being would fall to the surface,sometimes in the water,sometimes on the land,screaming as they fell awaiting the irresolution;even destiny and fate were here in forms and all the oceans of the world and all four corners of every dimension did here come together.
   
   
   No matter where one fell from or to all were faced reading this as it appeared before their eyes."Lightening blue on jet black skies,fire dominates the night,tears of pain on an angels face,fallen far into blue heavens grace.The ancient path the scrollmen keep,blood of angels wash their feet,noone knows where it lies the place of mourning where angels die,blue heavens not for mortal men,those who tread,tread without sin,tis the place for mourning for all who come to be reborn into time.
   
   The lands were beautiful to look at and the trees sheltered all that was around them,the forests had many glowing lights like campfires and on closer inspection their forms scurrying about and flying and voices could be heard.
   
   There was every type of life there,those emerging and dying and being reborn and created.As like in the ocean,the dolphins and the whales and all of life sustained there in rare form.But on land where the fairies and the pixies and the unicorns and all that life would sustain.The land seemed to go on forever and of its end noone knew.Reports from falling beings said it was an island though noone ever made it back when trying to reach the otherside.
   
   On top of a cliff stood a man well built,he looked human and then yet inhuman,he was dressed like a sorcerer and a warrior and had the looks of a warlock and yet again a slayer.His dark eyes winced at times across the ocean and onto the horizon and he watched with much pain and concern in his eyes.From time to time red liquid flowed from his eyes and ran down his cheeks and he would wipe it away from his eyes as another being fell from the sky.
   
   Upon this he would jump down and attempt to rescue the fallen one.sometimes he succeeded,sometimes not but he always tried and so he was known as "The Soul Saver."A dark complected man who said very little and seemed with ease to be either mortal or immortal,fleshy,or of spirit depending on what needed to be.
   
   ------------
   
   well I hope you like this I wrote it in 2007 and it was in the ezine tales after dark a free ezine thanks for your time and I wish everyone good luck in the contest
   
   by Paul Warzin
   

5. 

   Life is Good by Ava Nobile

   29.Feb.08, 16:41 EST
   
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   Hi, here's my entry for the writing/text category. Like the guy a few boxes below I'm not so sure that I'll win because, well, I don't have that many friends. lol. But still, I thought I'd enter. So here is my shot. Hope ya guys like it.
   
   Ava Nobile
   Life is Good
   And she took the faith her dreams gave her
   And stepped into the sunrise
   And faced the day
   And said to herself
   Nothing’s impossible!
   
   And she walked her husband’s stairs
   Into the attic
   And saw the picture of them when they were twenty-two
   And she thought about her best friend
   And how he enriched her life
   And how blessed she was
   And knew that life was good
   
   And she went down to her kitchen and called her best friend and talked about
   Their first date, under the willow tree
   And how good he was to her when he brought her the roses and took her to that restaurant
   And she remembered the time she got fatally ill, when she went into labor
   And how he held her hand and kept his cool the entire time
   And she couldn’t have done it without him.
   
   And they talked about the time she got food poisoning
   And how she was in the hospital for two weeks
   And how they never thought she’s make it
   But he came in
   And it seemed like miracle—
   She was out in two days.
   
   And as they went on like this and she told him how with everything they’ve been through…
   With all the catastrophes…
   That because of him, she realized The Power, The Amazing Power of Life, her very essence.
   He changed her life forever.
   
   By AvaN
   
   
   

6. 

   " this is the winter of my" by hereticpride

   21.Feb.08, 00:32 EST
   
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   Oh, Moli. What high hopes you're giving me! Paying my rent? I could cry. Really. My story; it's a long one, and I like to ramble, but I'll try to keep it simple. I grew up in a horrendously dysfunctional environment, but somehow beat the statistics and graduated high school (gasp!). My school days consisted of day-old pork chops for lunch and pennies for bus fare, distracting myself from everything by getting involved in everything. Choir, dance, theater, name an extra-curricular activity and I was in it. So, I manage to go to a tuition-free arts high school where I discover my passion for writing. But, as we all know, unless you're Danielle Steele and your target audience is thirty-something housewives with a passion for cheap, dry erotica, the chances of you making any money from writing is slim to none. I still write on, though. (Right on!) I was offered a one-way plane ticket from Phoenix to California. I currently live in what they like to call the "lower bottoms" of West Oakland -- like, it's not even bottoms, it's LOWER than the bottoms. Imagine more murders than I can count on one hand happening in the year or so I've lived here. And why does a tiny, blue-eyed 20 year old poet girl live in the Lower Bottoms? ... The rent is cheap. But still hard to acquire. The Bay Area is rough. The cost of living, the cost of EVERYTHING, is insane. I currently lift ridiculously heavy boxes of CDs and DVDs in the back room of a record store to get some sort of paycheck that doesn't even come close to covering what I need. You mentioned ramen? Yeah, for a quarter a piece, it's my main source of un-nutrition. I still write. It keeps me sane in this world of dollar signs and gun shots and bus rides where the driver will stop mid-route to hit a liquor store (no joke).
   
   Here's my submission; I hope you enjoy it!
   
   

   this is the winter of my
   

   
   My childhood tastes like Budweiser in a can. In twenty-four cans. In thirty-six more.
   My childhood sounds like referees blowing their whistles and holding their arms up for verifications of touchdowns. Horror Mondays sing "Are you ready for some football?!"
   My childhood looks like yellow school buses pulling up to peeling white paint over wood walls and sharp chain-link fences cut by pliers.
   My childhood feels like sticking to pleather armchairs in triple-digit desert heat and no-longer-cream carpet splattered with kool-aid and bloodstains.
   My childhood smells like cigarette smoke and rust from the choke-sputter-spit of the swamp cooler.
   
   My father looks like a five-foot-ten prison ink canvas, salt-and-pepper long hair pulled back into a ponytail and a crooked, cracked smile meant to make you shit your pants.
   My father smells like Camel Non-Filters, Brut cologne, and motor oil.
   My father sounds like the pseudo-Harley Davidson parked in his front yard, rasping and gasping to grab and hold and run, run, run with it.
   My father tastes like dead skin, dirt and sweat and salt on the palms of his calloused hands, his pores still expelling the speed from ten years back.
   My father feels like the leather sleeveless vest he would wear back in the day, feels like age and disease and disgust and fraudulence and anger in a burning ball.
   
   My mother smells like Hawaiian Ginger and Marlboro Reds, mixed with ammonia from her auburn copper hair dye.
   My mother tastes like bread, lunch meat and an overabundance of mustard, of pork chops once a week.
   My mother sounds like the rushing river wearing down rock, taking bits and pieces of debris along with her on her way to ocean dump, sounds like a song with every existing instrument playing their own tune in their own time.
   My mother feels like dead skin on all ten knuckles, red and torn from punching walls on Independence Day, feels like fried but tame hair.
   My mother looks like bags under glossy and distant eyes, looks like skin and bone, looks like a thin, cracked, hollow tree trunk.
   
   And I.
   
   I smell like cigarette smoke - Camel Non-Filters, Marlboro Reds, like Hawaiian Ginger and ammonia, rust, and motor oil.
   I also smell like milk and honey, of passion fruit, of salty tears and discontent.
   I sound like a rushing river towards an ocean dump, of an overabundant instrumental tune, of whistles and motorcycles with engines screaming run, run, run with it.
   I also sound like a mezzo-soprano clearing her throat far too often, a child giggling, a dictionary, a Francesca Lia Block novel, a Bukowski poem, and discontent.
   I taste like makeshift sandwiches, salty and sweaty palms, like tin cans.
   I also taste like green tea and coffee, cinnamon frozen chai, like a kiss - two kisses - three kisses - more, like words too tough to speak so they're swallowed down sour, like discontent.
   I feel like dead skin, like stained carpet, like perspiring legs to plastic couches, like a burning ball.
   I also feel like a tornado, a hurricane storming, swarming bees, like acoustic guitar string frequencies bending to my discontent.
   I look like his ponytail and his cracked, crooked, awkwardly fierce smile. Like her distant eyes, her jutting bones, her hollow center.
   I also look like a worn-out ballerina, an actor squinting in stage lights too bright, like the battle wounds on my thighs, and like his, her, your, their, our, my my my discontent.
   
   
   by hereticpride
   
   

7. 

   Poetry by Natasha

   20.Feb.08, 15:13 EST
   
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   Untitled
   
   whispered the shadows
   asking for a symphony
   it was him
   in my dream
   singing the sordid
   as I screamed
   to the void of music
   
   
   Emergency Exit
   
   the sign at the end of the hallway blinked bright red
   I knew it led down
   in a dream i thought I was you heading towards the edge
   but I just couldn't shape shift enough to take the plunge
   the blinking of red entranced me
   stuck in a silent epileptic fit of indecision
   I ruined the purity of my soul
   and the light in my eyes
   turned from happiness to derangement
   I read the directions again
   it said the door led to erasmios
   but I couldn't help thinking that it led to hell.
   
   by Natasha